


No Regrets

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Holding Hands, Johnlock Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Platonic Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know what? Yes. Yes, we are a couple. We’re in a relationship. Have been for a while. And I love him – there, happy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the stories I wrote for myself for my birthday on the 23rd and only just finished it.  
> I'm sharing it to you all, because I love you <3
> 
> Enjoy!

“You know what? Yes. Yes, we are a couple. We’re in a relationship. Have been for a while. And I love him – there, happy?” John exclaimed loudly as he turned to glare at the most recent group of paparazzi. They were frozen to the pavement, stunned at his outburst, and the casual, sarcastic air in which he spoke. The one with the recorder, a woman in her mid thirties, blinked with wide eyes and a red lipped, curling smile, and extended the recorder a little more in preparation for her next question. He arched his eyebrow angrily, clenched his fists, and stormed the rest of the way to the flat without another word or a backward glance.

As he shut the door behind him the full impact of what he’d just said descended on him in a crushing wave and he cursed and dropped his head forward, turning to kick the wall and roughly shrug out of his coat. He stomped up the stairs, slammed the living room door open and shut, and turned to glower at Sherlock who glanced up over the newspaper to run his eyes over John. John watched the ripple of intrigue and then amusement over his friend’s face and only glowered harder, stamping over rigidly and motioning for Sherlock to get to his feet.

“Up.”

Sherlock blinked and folded the newspaper, “What happened?’

“I need to tell you something and I don’t want you just lounging there as I do. Get up,” John told him and waited with his hands on his hips as Sherlock obliged him and stood. He breathed deeply, calmed his angrily humming mind, and then slumped his shoulders with a long sigh. “I did something stupid.”

“What’s new,” Sherlock scoffed and waved one long arm idly, ignoring another bout of glowering that John shot his way, “All right. What was it this time? Shout at a machine again? Was it an ATM this time? Or was it another self checkout?”

John clenched his eyes shut and tapped his foot agitatedly, “No,” he said slowly, swallowing down his rising irritation and panic, “No. Nothing like that. I did something worse.”

Sherlock tilted his head and frowned, “Go on…”

“It’s those damn paparazzi!” He exclaimed, pointing at the window behind Sherlock and then wiping his mouth. “They follow me everywhere now, Sherlock. And it’s constantly the same shit that comes out of their mouths. The same questions and arrogant tones – They act as though they know me better than I know myself! As if I’m deluded and I can’t possibly know something so personal and intimate as my own bloody sexuality! – They dig and downright bully me! It’s frustrating. I honestly feel like I’m back at high school, where girls and boys alike would continuously tease you if someone happened to fancy you but you didn’t fancy them back. It was just questions after questions, with them pushing and prodding and embarrassing everyone involved, making it impossible to do or say anything without it being twisted around in some way—It’s bloody immature and pathetic and it’s happening all over again!”

John paced in front of Sherlock irritably and let out a humourless laugh, “I know it shouldn’t get to me as much as it does, I know I should ignore them, but when has that ever actually, properly worked? And they’re wrong! So, so wrong! I’m not what they say I am! I’m not!—Christ, is this what it’s like to be you? To be surrounded by babbling idiots that fill the air around you with lies and smug remarks?” he ranted and then stopped, staring at Sherlock’s reflection in the mirror for a moment. “But I caved. I got angry and I just, sarcastically, told them that they were right. Just to…bloody shut the bastards up! I know I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve made it worse by doing it. I know that. But, Jesus Christ, Sherlock, I couldn’t take it anymore! On and on and on they go!—and it’s not just the media, it’s everyone! Everyone thinks they know better than me. That they can somehow, magically, read my every thought, subconscious and otherwise. They think they know me. They don’t know me!”

Sherlock remained silent as John turned to look at him and stepped close, “It’s not as if I’m embarrassed or disgusted by what they, incorrectly, presume,” John continued, not knowing how to stop, “it’s that they are wrong! That what they say is lies, and I just cannot be doing with it any longer—!”

“So you gave in to them.”

“So I gave in to—” John agreed before he registered what Sherlock had said and glared. “Shut up.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s true though, isn’t it? You said it yourself, you’ve made it worse by agreeing with them.”

John jutted out his chin and the two lapsed into silence for a long few moments, “Yeah,” he said finally, folding his arms. “Fine. I gave in. And you know what? I’m…I’m glad. Let them have their greasy and burnt cake and eat it. Let them think that they were right all along—In fact, let’s give them something tangible. Let’s play with them a little.”

“What?” Sherlock asked in confusion, and stumbled when John grabbed his arm and tugged him to the window.

“Let’s do this whole couple thing. Let’s mess with them,” John said as he peered out and spotted the same media group loitering outside their flat with a sudden sardonic and mischievous grin. “We can go all out and do a convincing break up and everything – Have them think we tried it but found that we were better off as friends. Sure the same questions will probably still come up in conversation, but at least we have this to fall back on. We can be like, “Ah, but we tried a relationship and it didn’t work, don’t you remember?” And in the end, they’d have to agree and finally move the hell on!”

Sherlock stared at him, gobsmacked, “Have you lost your mind? Why would we do that?”

“To shut the buggers up,” John exclaimed.

“Unless it suddenly escaped your notice, you are not gay, and I am not interested,” Sherlock told him curtly and turned to step away from the window.

John yanked him back, “I know that.”

“Then what in God’s name—?”

“Why not do this? Why not mess with them? What’s the difference between this and you putting on one of your bloody acts for a case or to charm some witness?”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow, infuriately unimpressed, “Well, for one thing, I do it for a purpose. For a means to an end. To obtain information. To solve a case! – There is a logical reason for me to do what I do. This though, this is entirely illogical!”

John gestured to the media outside their window furiously, “This is a means to an end. It ends all that rubbish!”

“No it doesn’t, it will merely make it worse. Much worse,” Sherlock told him, cocking his head and looking at John with a condescending expression, “Do you honestly not realise what you are doing? What you are proposing? – You’re going to let people believe that you are in a relationship with a man. That you are homosexual. When you are clearly anything but. How do you think this will affect your love life after this stupid little stunt?”

“I can just say I’m bisexual,” John told him, suddenly defiant. “Or that it was a phase. Or that it was just you whom I was interested in. It can and has happened, you know. Not everything is black and white. There is a whole… mass of grey areas with things like this—At any rate, I already have men try and flirt with me because of all these lies about you and I. I just politely decline and—”

“And use it to inflate your ego later on down the line,” Sherlock finished for him.

John glared, “We’re better off just playing this out. I’ve already made a balls up by saying what I said, so why not just…play along for a bit?”

Sherlock glanced briefly down to the cameras aimed up at them and pursed his mouth in thought, “It’ll obviously come up in conversation when you try and date again. Will you continue the lie? Not a great way to start a relationship, is it? Building it on a fairly big falsehood.”

“If it does come up, which it might not, not when it’s made public bloody knowledge,” John said in annoyance and a nod outside, “then I’ll say I don’t want to talk about it or avoid it…and if the woman I’m with is someone I want to spend more time with, then obviously, I’ll tell her the truth, all of it, and hopefully she’ll understand…”

“I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”

John exhaled roughly, “Shut up – Are we doing this then?”

“What do you expect us to do?” Sherlock asked him with a faint sneer and a look of disgust. “I hope you won’t be buying me flowers or making stupid, repulsive kissy faces at me?”

“K-kissy faces? What? Shut it!—We’ll just hold hands. We don’t have to do much. Not every couple likes to publicly express their affections,” John told him with a slight shrug, and reached to entwine their hands, making sure that they were easily seen doing so by the paparazzi below. Sherlock’s fingers remained limp in John’s grasp, but he didn’t resist the move and merely looked at John with exasperation. “Though…perhaps we should kiss a little. Give them something to gawk at.”

“John, listen to yourself.”

“I’m fine with kissing you. It’ll just be a peck,” John continued as he glared through the window subtly, focus intent and stubbornness rising. “I’ve had blokes kiss me. In a joking way and that, you know. A companionship way. You see footballers do it all the time. They’re not labelled or presumed to be in a sodding romantic relationship with their teammate.”

Sherlock sighed loudly, “This is ridiculous.”

John looked back at Sherlock and with a stern, determined and bold expression, he then surged up and kissed Sherlock on the mouth softly, letting it linger long enough to allow the cameras flashing outside the window to capture the moment. Sherlock breathed out against John’s lips and chin hotly, not responding but not pulling away, and John smiled at him tightly as he moved back. Their hands were still entwined and John squeezed Sherlock’s fingers, then brought them up to kiss them for added effect, smirking against Sherlock’s knuckles when there was another barrage of flashes.

Sherlock shrewdly stared at him with a blank expression and John wiggled his eyebrows in reply, keeping the events out of the window in the corner of his eye as he reached up with his free hand to caress the side of Sherlock’s face, cupping his jaw and spreading his thick fingers out over the side of his neck possessively. The look of his hand against Sherlock’s throat and half in the curls behind Sherlock’s ear was strikingly odd, the contrast between their skin colours appealing and interesting. If John had been a photographer, the sight would have made for an excellent, intimate and beautiful piece. As John kissed Sherlock hand once more and stroked down along Sherlock’s steady pulse to his shoulder, Sherlock’s eyes flickered and he shifted his body so subtly but so wonderfully toward John that it seemed almost real willingness to be closer, making John grin.

“Tea?” John offered, finally moving away from the window.

Sherlock watched him go and shook his head, “You’re going to regret this, John.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only been a few weeks but John was already getting used to the sensation of Sherlock’s hand in his and habitually found himself seeking it out in the privacy of their flat when their farce wasn’t exactly in affect. Sherlock’s fingers were a lot like the man himself, long, lean, sturdy, a mixture of soft and rough, and incredibly warm despite their cool and pale appearance. John seemed to favour Sherlock’s little finger the most out of them all, with Sherlock’s middle finger coming in at a close second, and had more often than not found himself clinging to the digit as they walked side by side.

They hadn’t kissed again but John would frequently make it look as if they did whenever he caught sight of a camera or an upturned phone, pulling Sherlock down to adjust his collar and hide his face to the side of Sherlock’s cheek as if he was giving him a kiss there. Sherlock would always huff and mutter and then suddenly demean and deduce the owner of the camera until John pulled back trying to stifle a rising storm of laughter without success. In reaction, Sherlock would smirk and arch his eyebrows, relishing in the amusement quietly with his fingers still curled around John’s and a quick sweep of his thumb.

“Come on then, get your shoes and coat on,” John said to the reclining figure of Sherlock one evening, reaching over to card his fingers through the mass of curls on Sherlock’s head, instinctively correcting his collar as he moved away. He frowned at his actions and then shrugged, glancing at his own reflection as he checked his wallet. “And don’t pull that face. You agreed to go.”

“Only to aid your stupid lie,” Sherlock complained in a low grumble, “And because you answered for me – Lestrade suspects something, you know. Did you not see the look he gave you?—And how did you know what sort of face I was pulling? You’re not looking at me.”

John grinned and turned just as Sherlock stood up, “Yeah, but I know you. You and your faces.” Taking a breath and a moment to look Sherlock over, John tilted his head and reached to smooth the lapel of Sherlock’s jacket. “And I don’t care if he suspects anything. We’re doing this mostly to mess with the media. If our friends figure it out as a scam or a prank or whatever, then that’s fine. I’ll just explain it to them. They’d probably find it funny.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock scoffed and arched his eyebrow when John unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. “What are you doing?” 

“Relieving some tension,” John explained with a crooked, boyish and amused smile, “You’re going to destroy one of your stupidly tight shirts one of these days. I’d rather it not be this one. I like this one. So I’m making sure there’s a bit more…leeway.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a quirk of his mouth, “They’re not tight. They’re perfectly fitted.”

John hummed in sarcastic agreement and nodded, “Yeah, of course.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock groused and turned to slip his shoes on and follow John to gather their coats. “Whatever I’m drinking, you’re buying.”

“Nothing new there,” John huffed and waited until Sherlock had finished winding his scarf around his neck before taking up his hand and leaving the flat with him. “You don’t have to talk, by the way. You can just sit there and look pretty – Or you can pick apart the patrons for my amusement.”

Sherlock snorted with a grin and looked around as they walked, frowning a second later as they turned down a street, “Where are we going?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” John murmured with a hidden grin.

“I thought we were going to some ghastly pub?” Sherlock asked him and then dug his heels in when he looked down the street. “No. No, definitely not. The pub was bad enough, but a date?—Of course. Stupid of me. You didn’t even eat any dinner. How did I not suspect something?”

“Double date,” John informed him and tugged on his hand, dragging him a few more steps forward. “I need you to make sure she isn’t some serial killer – but be nice! Deduce away but wait until she is out of earshot or at least until Lestrade asks you—”

“Wait, what?” Sherlock exclaimed and stumbled forward as John heaved him strongly toward one of the brightly lit restaurants. “Are you…using me like some sort of bullshit detector?”

John shot him a quick smirk, “Come on. It’s just this once. I want to make sure Lestrade has picked a good one – From what he’s told me she seems a bit… dodgy.”

Sherlock frowned and pulled a face, “Dodgy?”

“Immensely dodgy,” John nodded with a mutter and then smiled widely when he spotted Lestrade, dragging Sherlock over to meet both him and his date.

As they all walked into the restaurant, John glanced at Sherlock with a quick questioning lift of his eyebrows and watched as Sherlock shrugged and waved his free hand in a vague motion. John forced another smile onto his face when Lestrade looked back at them and trailed after the inspector as they were all shown to their table. He sat closer to Sherlock than he ever had before, keeping their hands entwined whenever he could, and turned to engage Lestrade in conversation. John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eyes during the evening and squeezed or rubbed Sherlock’s knuckles and fingers at different intervals, both instinctively and to distract Sherlock whenever he was about to say something inappropriate. 

By the end of the meal, their legs had ended up pressed together from knee to ankle and Sherlock was a bundle of energetic energy as he explained to Lestrade and his date how he had figured out a particular case from a single smear of dirt on a rug. John grinned at Sherlock and reached up halfway through Sherlock’s story to adjust his collar and smooth his fingers through the hair at Sherlock’s nape affectionately. The action made Sherlock pause, but only for a second, and he glanced at John with a smile as he continued, leaning back in his chair when John curled his arm around the back and stroked up Sherlock’s arm.

As John absentmindedly caressed Sherlock’s back and shoulders he became aware of a few people photographing them from the corner of his eyes and sighed as subtly as he could, before he pushed his hand up between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and leaned into his side. Lestrade frowned at him briefly and John smiled, ignoring the inquisitive look. Sherlock’s scent was deeper and spicier the closer John got, and he turned his head and inhaled it silently, only stopping when he caught a whiff of smoke.

“Have you been smoking?” John asked angrily, cutting off Sherlock’s sentence. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn’t look at John, “No.”

“Liar. I can smell it on you,” John told him and pressed his nose into Sherlock’s nearest shoulder and then into his neck, glaring when Sherlock jerked away with a scoff. “You’ve had them sometime today.”

“So?” Sherlock grumbled, eating a forkful of his meal and then gesturing across the table with his knife. “Lestrade’s been smoking for three weeks now. Question him.”

John turned a shocked face to a stunned and sheepish looking Lestrade, “Is that true? – Greg for God’s sake!” Looking shamefaced, Lestrade shot a tight smile at everyone and John shook his head with a brief laugh. “Christ I feel like a disappointed parent.”

Chuckling deeply, Sherlock turned to John with an impish expression, “I thought you said we shouldn’t bring our bedroom antics into conversations? – He likes it when I call him Daddy, you see.”

Lestrade snorted and coughed in reply, and John flushed, shooting Sherlock an annoyed look, “Shut up – He’s joking Greg. Trying to deflect from the main issue.”

“A little,” Sherlock admitted with a friendly and suddenly knowing grin in Lestrade’s direction, to which Lestrade spluttered and glanced at his date and around the room quickly.

John’s eyebrows jumped high up on his forehead and he shared a quick look at Sherlock, who beamed at him briefly, “Right, well, anyway,” John said, clearing his throat and stifling his twitching grin, “No more smoking. That goes for the both of you. Doctors orders—And wipe that bloody lewd expression off your face, Sherlock!”

Slipping his hand back up Sherlock’s back and stroking his nape, John relaxed in his chair and let the conversation tip back into another one of Sherlock’s deductions, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock’s leg against his own and relishing the friendly atmosphere that Sherlock was obviously allowing to appease John. John reached over with his other hand under the table to squeeze Sherlock’s knee in thanks and smiled at him when Sherlock’s eyes flitted to settle on his. 

“We should do this again,” Lestrade smiled as they all stepped out into the brisk night air another twenty minutes later. “I rather enjoyed myself.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, automatically seeking out Sherlock’s hand, which slipped into his without hesitation. “Yeah, me too. – We’ll have to arrange it later. Text me?”

Sherlock watched Lestrade and his date turn to flag down a taxi and suddenly smirked, “I very much doubt we’ll see him with the same woman,” he commented in a murmur.

“Dodgy?” John asked and lifted a hand as the taxi drove off.

Sherlock turned with John as they wandered slowly back to the flat, “Not exactly,” he said, and their joined hands swung gently between them. “She’s a lot more interesting than any of your past girlfriends—”

“Oi!”

“—but even so – There’s nothing overly “dodgy” about her. They just aren’t…suited,” Sherlock explained with a wrinkled nose.

“Wow. I think that’s the most romanticised thing I’ve ever heard leave your mouth,” John teased, squeezing Sherlock’s hand and then pushing their entwined hands into his coat pocket.

“You only think she’s “dodgy” because she’s young,” Sherlock told him, huddling up to John’s side. “I’m younger than you, you know.”

John scoffed, “Not by much. Not as young as she is,” he mumbled and then shrugged, stroking Sherlock’s fingers in the confines of his pocket. “Maybe it’s jealously? Maybe I envy him for getting such an attractive and young woman?”

“No,” Sherlock replied as his fingers flexed and danced up against John’s in response, “it’s not that.”

“There’s something dodgy about her,” John insisted and nudged Sherlock’s side gently, “did you see the way she was looking at you? And the way she controls Greg with a look or a subtle shift of her body – Mark my words, she’s one of these… controlling people. Greg is a strong person but he’s lonely, you know? And these people are pretty damn good at pulling the wool over your eyes. I dated a woman once who—”

“Lestrade is capable of looking after himself. Like I said, they won’t be together for long,” Sherlock said and then looked at John as they stepped up to open the front door of the flat, “when exactly are you planning on having us “break up” by the way?”

John made a face and shrugged, “Not sure.”

“But we are going to?” Sherlock asked him with a strange expression on his face and a look in his eyes.

“Yeah. Obviously,” John frowned and let Sherlock’s hand go to shrug out of his coat, “just need the right moment and that, you know? So everyone knows about it.”

Sherlock shook his head as he stripped himself of his coat and scarf, “I can’t believe you still think this will work – Is it really worth it? All this…pretending?”

“I think so,” John told him, climbing the stairs only to seek out Sherlock’s hand once they entered the living room. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but—”

“You’re going to regret this so very much later on down the line,” Sherlock interrupted him as he gave their linked fingers a look and walked away, detangling himself from John roughly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their fake relationship went smoothly for another week and a half, their little charade only seeming to deepen their friendship more than ruin it, like John had been distantly worried about. However, as the days wore on, John felt fidgety and confused, unable to pinpoint what it was that he was feeling or sensing between them, not until they came bursting into 221B out of the cold after a gruelling case on a dull Wednesday evening, laughing and falling against one another as they caught their breath. Sherlock jostled against the wall as he panted and beamed widely at John just as John looked up at him with a mirroring smile, and suddenly something was different. For a moment nothing happened, and they merely just stared at one another, but then John’s eyes dropped and he leaned unexpectedly forward to kiss Sherlock gently on the mouth without rhyme or reason.

It was a brief kiss, only a quick touch of the dry skin of their lips; however, as John frowned at the impulsive action and began to move back, Sherlock swallowed and pursed his lips just enough to return it, and John felt a flare of heat so intense that his vision whitened. He exhaled loudly and shakily through his nose, and then rushed up against Sherlock to kiss him again in an instant, deepening it as soon as Sherlock opened his mouth eagerly in response. The kiss grew heated and wet and passionate quicker than John could remember any kiss in his past with anyone else getting, and he pushed up against Sherlock’s body with a low and rumbling sound in his chest, sliding his hands up to clutch at the warming curls at the back of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock grunted at the touch and gripped John back, curling his fingers into the sides of John’s coat and pulling him so close that their noses were squashed into each other’s faces, making it hard for either of them to breathe. They shifted and rocked into one another, snogging so fervently, hungrily and wildly, that the noise was enough to stir Mrs Hudson. She opened the door to her flat with a frown just before the two of them broke apart.

“Oh! It’s just you two,” She smiled, looking around and then lifting her brow expectantly, “catch the mugger then, I take it?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes,” John said quickly as he adjusted his coat and cleared his throat, “Sorry. Did we…did we disturb you?”

Mrs Hudson waved a dismissive hand and gave them both a quick once over in sudden concern, “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied curtly and glided up the stairs before John could do more than blink. The echoes of his footsteps on the floor above made John wince and swallow thickly, but he forced a smile on his face and bid Mrs Hudson good night and followed after Sherlock slowly.

As John stepped foot in the living room Sherlock’s bedroom door slammed shut in reply and John sighed loudly, rubbing his forehead, “Sherlock,” he called in frustration with his heart in his throat, realising with a prickle of sweat and a loop of panic in his gut, that he was half hard in his jeans, “Sherlock let’s…let’s at least talk about this, okay?”

When nothing but silence answered him, John stormed over to Sherlock’s bedroom door and knocked loudly, “Sherlock! Sherlock, listen, it was probably just the adrenaline,” he said weakly, his voice wavering. “The…the pretend relationship thing must have crossed some wires or something...come on, Sherlock. I think we need to talk—”

The door suddenly and violently swung open, cutting him off, and Sherlock appeared with an unreadable expression. He looked as though he was about to speak, but he faltered and then pressed his lips together, stepping away with his head very faintly bowed. At the sight of him, John was lost for words and meekly shuffled his feet before pressing onwards and stepped through the threshold of Sherlock’s bedroom, watching Sherlock closely as the man became jittery and anxious and threw off his coat and scarf. Sherlock began to pace and then turned his back on John, facing the wall with a tight and unapproachable posture.

“Too bad we weren’t outside, huh? It would have made some media hungry people very happy,” John joked flatly with an awkward wince, scratching the underside of his chin nervously when Sherlock’s posture became tighter still, “Look, this…was nothing, yeah? We just got so carried away in make-believe that we…we…”

Sherlock’s hands were flexing in and out of fists at his sides, “Carried away,” he echoed with an emotionless voice.

“Yeah,” John said and cleared his throat when he realised how croaky he sounded, “so, let’s just…write this off as a…”

Sherlock finally turned back around, and his face was devoid and cold as he closed the distance between them and reached out to touch John’s hand. John jumped at the contact and swallowed the rest of his words at the new and intense spark of pleasure that burst through John’s chest, along his spine, and fizzled through the length of his filling cock. Inhaling sharply at the sensations, John wrenched his hand away and took a shaky step back in disbelief, staring widely into the middle distance with a growing blossom of realisation that he tried to shake off in doubt.

“Regretting it yet?” Sherlock sneered and he moved to turn away from John again.

“No,” John replied instantly, making Sherlock pause, “…no. I…don’t regret anything—”

Sherlock stepped into his personal space and snarled, “You’ve ruined everything with this!” 

“What?” John frowned with a glare. “How have I?”

“How have you?” Sherlock repeated loudly with a short and sour laugh, and waved his hand between them. “Because we can’t go back from this, John! Not this. Not now. I can’t forget what just happened down there, and neither can you. Especially not you—Even if I were to somehow delete it from my mind, you would remember, and it would linger over us like some sort of ominous storm cloud!”

John swallowed and clenched his jaw, watching Sherlock pace again for a moment, “It’s just the—”

“It’s not the bloody adrenaline!” Sherlock exclaimed with a sneer. “This…charade has tarnished our friendship. Our partnership. It’s ruined everything! – No! You’ve ruined everything by coming up with the idiotic idea in the first place!—Pretending to be in a relationship. Heh. What on earth were you on that day anyway? In fact, what is it exactly that you’ve been taking this whole time? It must be something really strong. Something I have no knowledge of, as it’s completely changed your entire character!”

“Hey now, just…just calm down,” John told him with a deeper frown, holding out his hands calmly, “I’m not on any bloody drugs. This was a perfectly sound and…kind of fun idea. And I’ve not changed at all—”

“No?” Sherlock arched his eyebrows and then waved both his trembling hands in John’s direction. “First, you were insistent that you correct everyone whenever they assumed we were involved, because, as you stated, they were wrong in their stupid presumptions. You were steadfast and stubborn and confident in your heterosexuality for months and months on end. You were angry from the onslaught of looks and enquiries and expectations, of course, but you ignored it all and pressed on. And then, quite suddenly, you blurt out some senseless rubbish to appease the media and get them off your back in one explosive tantrum – like a constantly pestered child would do – and come up with some pathetic and downright daft idea that we actually go through with the sardonic story that you all but shouted to the entire world!—You hold my hand. You kiss me for God’s sake! The John I knew, the John before, wouldn’t be caught dead kissing another man! It wouldn’t even cross his mind!”

John smacked one of Sherlock’s arms down, “Stop it.”

“And I read what it was you said too,” Sherlock continued, laughing humourlessly and throwing both of his arms up into the air, “You love me, do you? You told them that we’ve been in a secret relationship and that you love me—I know you told me that you “did something stupid,” but I think the actual word you were looking for was brainless!”

“Sherlock—” John said through his teeth.

“And then you keep it up! Like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not a gigantic lie, like you’re not deceiving everyone you know, like it’s nothing! – Holding my hand every time we’re out, and sometimes when we’re not, as if someone might be peeking in through the window or something. You pretend to kiss my face, or whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and you enjoy it! Enjoy surrounding yourself with this growing lie, with lying into the faces of everyone you’ve ever met!” Sherlock ranted, breathing hard and shaking. “Now, you tell me, John, doesn’t that sound out of character? Completely deluded? – Who are you? Because you’re certainly not John Watson!”

John stared at Sherlock and took another step back, “Sherlock…”

“You’re tricking everyone,” Sherlock scowled, “making them believe something that just isn’t true – You can’t go back from this. Once everyone finds out you’re a filthy little liar, do you really think they’re going to believe anything you say ever again?”

“What exactly are we discussing here?” John said steadily after Sherlock had swirled away to face his back wall again, his shoulders tense. 

Sherlock shot him an incredulous look, “Are you being deliberately dense?”

“No,” John sighed with a tight and derisive smile, “not at all.”

“Get out,” Sherlock demanded coldly.

“If I explained this to my friends, they’d probably find it weird, yeah, but they’d not forever think I’m lying to them afterwards – It’s not like any of them care what I do or don’t do and with whom. In fact, if I told them exactly why I did it, they might even back me up. People have done a lot more for a lot less. I’m pretty sure Lestrade knows that it’s all a farce too, as you pointed out not too long ago yourself—”

Sherlock stepped into John’s personal space, “I said, get out.”

“This has to do with you, not them,” John carried on, not backing down when Sherlock’s face shuttered blankly a little further, “you’re mad because—”

“Get out!” Sherlock bellowed, and tried to wrestle and get away from John as John grabbed him by the arms and steered him to the bed, forcing him to sit down. “Get off me!”

John exhaled angrily and struggled to keep Sherlock in place, and then cupped and cradled his face in his hands. “Stop it now. Sherlock, stop it for a second. Stop fighting me and calm down,” he said lowly until Sherlock sat immobile but refused to look up at John, “I…think I understand what’s going on here.”

“Go away,” Sherlock muttered and closed his eyes when John crouched down a little. 

“I…really enjoyed kissing you,” John admitted in a whisper with a flush and a stutter of panic, “and I know…I know that I’m not like that and I know that my idea was a stupid one, but I…just—Let’s stop it, yeah? Okay? Let’s not do the charade anymore and instead…instead we…try it for real? Is that what you want? Because…I might be okay with that – You’re different than other men, you know? I can’t explain it, you’re just different. I think you’ve always been an exception for me, with a lot of things. I’d…be up for trying it properly with you. Just to see, yeah? We might actually end up realising that we were both being silly and there’s not actually anything there between us, and it was to do with the mess I put us in. It could be down to any number of things that we…we kissed – I’m getting off topic. The main point I’m trying to make is that I…liked what we did, a lot, and I’d be open to try and do something like it again and to…be with you…for real…if you want that?”

Sherlock frowned and opened his eyes, “No.”

“…No? Just like that? Just a flat out no?” John asked with a glare. “I thought that you—”

“You are not interested in men and I’m not interested at all. In anything,” Sherlock told him.

John, feeling stubborn and vaguely lost on what to do, leaned forward to kiss Sherlock quickly, “No?” he murmured and kissed him again for good measure, stroking a hand up into the soft hair at Sherlock’s nape. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered at the caress and John couldn’t help but kiss him one more time, breathing out in a long sigh through his nose. “…I think this has been a long time coming. There was always…something. Wasn’t there? And especially lately, I’ve been…been noticing…things. – Still no?”

“You’re going to regret this,” Sherlock whispered instead of answering the question.

“I don’t think so,” John replied and pushed up onto his feet as Sherlock looked up at him, “I know it was all a game before, but I…really, really did like holding your hand and being close to you, so I can only imagine how much better the real thing will be.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Sherlock asked him seriously. “It’ll be hard to come back from this, John. I don’t think that—”

John bent down and kissed Sherlock’s neck gently, and then pulled him up into an embrace, “I’m just as confused and shocked and… scared about this as you,” he mumbled into Sherlock’s shoulder, “but also…not…if that makes any sense—Yes, I’m not into men but you’re…just different, okay? Shut up. This is what I meant about grey areas.”

Sherlock slumped against him suddenly and brought his arms up to awkwardly cling to John’s back, “This is a bad idea…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John massaged his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as he leaned over to look at what he was doing on his laptop and huffed with a frown, “That…is disgusting – Must you look up that stuff right after dinner?” he grumbled and pressed into Sherlock’s back to squint at the screen. “Aren’t they acid burns? Why are you looking at acid burns?”

“Hm,” Sherlock replied distractedly and only acknowledged John when he bent down to press a kiss to his neck. “What?”

“Stop looking at acid burns and help me with the dishes,” John told him and patted his shoulder as he wandered into the kitchen with a sigh, eyeing the flowers that had been placed on the side with consideration, “why did Mrs Hudson give us flowers again?”

“Apparently it’s the anniversary of when we first got together,” Sherlock told him as he followed and flicked leaves aside to pick out the card hidden between the stems, “I told her that she was wrong, and also that to celebrate an anniversary of anything, it has to be on the same date of the following year, seeing as its annual. But she told me it was more a milestone, a relationship anniversary marking X amount of days since we fell in love with one another. I told her she was a soppy idiot and was still wrong.” 

John snatched the card from him with a half-hearted glare, “Two months to the day?” John read with an arched eyebrow, looking at Sherlock. “Is that right? Has it really been two months?”

Sherlock shrugged and glanced off to the side, “More or less,” he mumbled and walked to the sink to run the taps and roll up his sleeves, “I’ll wash and you dry this time.”

“Doesn’t feel like two months,” John said as he smiled at the card and glanced at the flowers. 

“What does that even mean? What does two months feel like exactly?” Sherlock frowned; turning around at John’s prompting and then bending for a kiss on the cheek that John gave him. “And I said more or less. If you want to be precise, and if we count from the time it stopped being a lie and started being real, then it would be—”

“Less talking, more washing,” John interrupted him and slipped an arm around Sherlock’s warm waist with a grin at Sherlock’s sullen glare. He inhaled the scent of his cologne from the curve of Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed his face there affectionately, rubbing circles up and down Sherlock’s back. 

They stood side by side, synchronised with each other as they did the dishes together, and John turned every so often to kiss Sherlock’s shoulder or arm, unable to stop expressing how much he enjoyed their new and close relationship. He thought on their budding romantic relationship and what had been before as he dried plates and glasses, and realised that not much was really different. If the scattered few touches and kisses were taken out of the equation, they still worked and acted as they always had, like friends, best friends and flatmates, who occasionally kissed. 

John glanced at Sherlock from the corner of his eyes as Sherlock scrubbed at a mug with long and wet fingers, and wondered if the fact that hardly anything was different was a good or a bad thing. In addition, he realised that it was never Sherlock that instigated the affectionate touches between them, and never had been, and removed his hand from Sherlock’s lower back with a thoughtful sigh. They still held hands whenever they were in public but in the flat it was always John that reached for Sherlock again.

“Sherlock?” John started, licking his lips when Sherlock hummed in reply. “Can I…have a kiss?”

Sherlock leaned down to present his cheek; focus still on the mug he was washing, “Of course.”

John didn’t move and narrowed his eyes, “No. I want a kiss. From you. Give me a kiss.”

Handing over the now clean mug, Sherlock squinted in confusion and then scoffed through his nose with a flush, “What’s the difference?”

“I always kiss you. Kiss me,” John told him and put the mug down to face Sherlock properly. “Just a little smooch. A peck. Or we could…kiss like…like we kissed in the hallway that time? I’d really like to do that again, actually…”

Sherlock blinked and then returned his attention to the sink, “No.”

“Why not?” John asked in a snort and a deep furrow of his brow. “Sherlock, listen, if this isn’t working out for you, then just tell me. Don’t just string me along – Don’t pretend like it’s fine when it’s not fine. If you’re worried it will mess with our friendship then, well, then do the decent thing, be a friend, and let me down gently—It seems like I’m the only one doing all the work – no, wait, work isn’t the right word. I just…I’m the only one putting in any effort with this…thing with us. You seem standoffish or just indifferent about everything and hardly ever come over just to give me a hug or…or anything. I didn’t mind when you did that stuff when it was all…fake. Back then I was happy that you weren’t pushing me away or pulling me in, and just let me…get on with it—Oh God, this is sounding more and more wrong.”

“You started this between us, not me,” Sherlock shot back at him with a furrowed brow. “Both times, might I add. Yes I was willing to go through with the “show” for you and…agreed to try it out for real, but this is your area more than mine. You’ve done this more than I have. Relationships, I mean.”

John eyed him for another three minutes, muttering under his breath, and then shifted a little closer, enveloping himself in Sherlock’s scent, “…Are you afraid you’ll do something wrong? Or that I’ll compare you to others? – I’d never do that. How could I anyway? You’re the first…man that I’ve had these kind of feelings for. That I’ve done any of this with.”

“Must we always talk about this?” Sherlock muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact with John. “Can we finish doing the dishes?”

“Do the dishes alone,” John snapped grumpily and threw down his dishtowel, turning to enter the living room and fall into his chair. His chest burned with rejection and he felt a crawling, scratching tug of anxiety as he turned on the television and tried not to feel too upset.

Sherlock didn’t follow after John’s dramatic exit until two minutes later, when he walked into the living room, stood in front of John’s view of the television, and then fell to his knees to roughly hug John’s middle. John blinked down at him and sat forward, touching the curls at the top of Sherlock’s head gently in confusion.

“Sherlock—?”

“I’ve never done anything like it before,” Sherlock suddenly confided in a low but deep, muffled rumble. 

John frowned and combed his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, “Kissing?”

Sherlock exhaled so hard and so much that John straightened suddenly in his seat at the burst of heat, “Anything,” Sherlock told him, and finally lifted his head enough to look at John with a grimace. “I don’t do relationships, remember? I’ve not done this. At all. Ever. I’ve not really allowed anyone close enough to be in a relationship with me – I’ve kissed people, yes. I’ve pretended like I know what I’m doing. Acted a part, but that’s it. I’ve never done anything…real…before.”

“Oh,” John breathed and huffed gently with a flickering smile, “Well, you could have just said that, you know – Daft git.”

Leaning down toward Sherlock, John kissed his cheek and then tilted his head to kiss his forehead, slipping his hands down Sherlock’s back soothingly, “You really should try the sharing thing once in a while,” he murmured against Sherlock’s already flushed brow. “I’m not going to think any less of you or anything.”

“I know,” Sherlock scoffed with his eyes half closed, “In fact, I’m sure you’re hardly surprised at my lack of experience…”

John smirked and shrugged, kissing Sherlock’s cheek once more with a low sound in his throat, “All I’m asking for from you is some random kisses every now and again… and maybe a hug here and there,” he said as he brushed Sherlock’s hair from his face and then sat back. “You know, that kiss in the hallway was…one of the sexiest and most erotic kisses I’ve ever had.”

Sherlock stared at John in suspicion, “Really?” he asked with an arching of one eyebrow. 

“Oh yes,” John nodded with another smirk, squeezing Sherlock’s shoulders, “So, you…you still want this? You’re okay with it? You aren’t annoyed with my…affections and all? – I just want to know that you still…want…what’s happening between us? Whatever it is?”

Sherlock nodded and stood up fluidly, “No regrets then? This is what you get with me. I’m not…like other people – as you’ve pointed out on more than one occasion. I can be difficult. Things will go slow. Sometimes even stopping altogether for a time—I’m really not good with this.”

“No regrets,” John replied and got to his feet as well, if only to pull Sherlock into a slow and deeply impassioned kiss with a smile, enjoying the way Sherlock melted into him and parted his lips with a sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


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